Bury the Hatchet
by Vanillasiren
Summary: In therapy with Archie, Regina says something she doesn't mean to say, and a long-buried memory comes swimming to the surface.


Bury the Hatchet

Summary: In therapy with Archie, Regina says something she doesn't mean to say, and a long-buried memory comes swimming to the surface.

"So … we were talking about your marriage."

Regina scowls at him. "No, _you_ were talking about my marriage. And frankly, I fail to see how it has anything to do with the goal of not using magic … for the sake of my son," she adds, her tone softening considerably at the end, as it always does when she talks of Henry.

"It has everything to do with it, Regina," Archie Hopper – otherwise known as Jiminy Cricket – explains to her in that annoyingly patient way of his. "You said it was right before your marriage that you first used magic, and it was right _after_ your marriage that you took up learning it in earnest."

"That's right," Regina nods tightly. She had told him that. Though of course, she'd left out a great many details.

"So … we need to get the root of your problem. We need to go back to the start. Why did you start using magic in the first place?"

"Why do you think, Archie?" She snaps. "For power, why else?"

"For power," he repeats softly, unperturbed. He never takes offense at her tone. Sometimes, she wishes he would. "So … you sought out magic because you felt … powerless?"

"Well, obviously," Regina retorts, her tone still sharp. He gives her a steady look, and her demeanor softens somewhat, despite herself. Damned if he isn't actually good at this.

"I suppose you'd think the opposite would be true. After all, I was the queen of all the realm. But I still felt … trapped. Caged. Alone." The last word is almost a whisper. "Without Daniel … and I was married to a man I didn't love, who didn't love me. I was angry all the time, and … and even my father … he didn't understand."

"So … you turned to magic."

She leans in then, her eyes gleaming at him. "Archie, you have no idea of how it _feels_, to use magic. If you did, maybe then you'd understand why it's so hard to stop. I just … he made me feel alive, and powerful, and _free_."

"Who did?"

Regina blinks at him. She gives a puzzled look. "What do you mean 'who?' I was talking about magic –"

"Well I thought you were, but then you said 'he.'"

"I - what?"

"You said 'He made me feel alive,' Regina. 'He' and not 'it.'" He gives her a look that is somehow both mild and sharp.

"Can you tell me who you were talking about?"

Dr. Hopper never thought he would see the Evil Queen blush.

It would be almost comical, except that now, Regina's jaw clenches, and she closes her eyes, and when she opens them again, he can see how full of pain and anger she is.

"It was a slip of tongue, Archie. I misspoke. I was talking about magic, not a man." _After all, that twisted little imp doesn't really count as a man, does he?_

"Are you sure?" He asks gently.

Regina stands. "What I'm sure of," she says icily, "is that these pathetic little therapy sessions have been an utter waste of time. I shouldn't have come back here."

He stands as well. "Regina, please. We're making progress. I know it's difficult to –"

"No you don't!" She snaps, pushing past him and out of the office. "You have no goddamn idea!"

He follows her to the exit, kind but determined. "Regina, if you could just tell me who you were talking about, maybe you'd feel –"

She whirls around. "I feel _nothing_!" She hisses. "Not for –" She stops short, and she gulps, looking almost afraid. Then she turns on her heel, and stalks out of the building, slamming the door behind her.

What on earth had made her think _therapy _would be a good idea?

All it had done was bring up things she'd just as soon forget.

_It's been a month since the last time she saw him._

_A whole damn bloody month since she had a good … magic lesson. Leopold may not be the most shrewd of men, but she supposes her obvious shifts in mood have caused even him to become suspicious, and when she told her teacher as much, he reminded her she needed to learn to mask her emotions better, and informed her they would have curtail her lessons for a while._

_When she asked him how long a while was, he'd giggled in that maddening way of his, and said she'd see. _

"_Well then, if it gets too long, I can always go to Maleficent for some lessons."_

"_Ah, but I doubt you'd enjoy lessons with her as much as you do with me."_

"_And why's that –"_

_He'd kissed her then, and one long hot blur of pleasure later, she'd found herself lying in her bed at the palace, her body still tingling from his touch. Damn teleportation spell._

_That was a month ago._

_In the meantime, she's been occupying herself being a dutiful stepmother to Snow, which is all Leopold really seems to want of her anyway. Oh, he's bedded her once or twice as well, and it hasn't been painful so much as tedious and passionless, but really, she wonders why he bothers. She's not his first wife, his one true love, and she never will be. Besides which, he can't seem to divorce love from lust, so it's not like he enjoys it anymore than she does. _

_Or maybe he _is_ enjoying it, somehow. The sad truth is, she simply doesn't know him well enough to tell._

_Of course, it does occur to Regina that he may want a son from her, an heir. Leopold would probably be content to let Snow inherit the kingdom, but tradition dictates that it is a son and not a daughter who should sit on the throne, and the king is the sort who would not want to unsettle his subjects by defying convention._

_Bearing Leopold's child is a disturbing thought. She doesn't want a child of hers to grow up with parents who don't love each other. She's already witnessed that firsthand, and she knows the damage it can do. _

_Though sometimes, she thinks that perhaps her parents were once truly in love. Perhaps there had been a time when her mother hadn't sneered at her father's "weakness," a time when he hadn't bowed his head in shame. But if there was, it must have been before she was born, because she can't remember it being any other way between them. _

_And she would not allow a child of hers to experience something like that._

_Besides which, there was only one man whose children she wanted to bear, and he is lost to her._

_This isn't the first time she's thought about this. She still remembers, after … after he, her teacher, Rumplestiltskin, took her maidenhood, when she'd returned to the palace …_

_Then, Leopold had taken her._

_It was not as bad as she'd expected. He was gentle – at least he tried to be, since of course he assumed she was a virgin – and he was old, so it was over quickly. Afterwards, they lay side by side, not touching, not talking. After a moment, he'd reached over to take her hand, hesitantly. Before she could stop herself, she had snatched her hand away._

_After that, it was the look on his face that made her say the first genuine words she's spoken to him in a long time:_

"_I'm sorry."_

_She'd put her hand back down, and he'd patted it, awkwardly, but not unkindly. "I'm sorry too," he had said, though she couldn't fathom what _he_ was apologizing for._

_After a moment, he'd pulled on his robe and left, and she couldn't feel anything except relief that they weren't going to have to share the bed the whole night._

_When she was able to get away to have another lesson with Rumplestiltskin, her teacher had handed her a bottle of murky liquid. When she'd asked what it was, he'd quietly explained to her that it would prevent pregnancy, so long as she drank it every month. He'd also told her that it was not too difficult to make, that the ingredients were surprisingly common, and that before she left him today, she would know how to prepare it by heart._

"_Thank you," she'd whispered, and hugged him very tightly. And ever since then, she had brewed and taken the potion, without fail._

_It really was for the best. Leopold wanted his precious Snow to have the damned kingdom anyway._

_These days, when Regina is not occupied with Snow, she spends her time in seclusion, practicing magic. But without further lessons, she can only go so far …_

_It's been a month now, and damn it, she _needs_ to see him._

_To continue her training. Of course, that's why she needs to see him._

_But really, a month isn't that long, she tells herself._

_So when she receives his magical summons, and feels a familiar tingling go all up and down her spine, she takes a deep breath and reminds herself not to act the fool._

_Regina dresses herself all in black and goes to meet Rumplestiltskin. _

_With a flick of her wrist, the doors to his dark castle spring open. He's sitting at the spinning wheel, and he turns at the sight of her, but he does not get up._

_She grins at him, praying her expression comes across as sultry and sophisticated rather than girlish and giddy._

"_Flimsy locks," she remarks, in what she hopes is a careless tone. He giggles._

"_That, or you're getting better."_

"_Do you think so?" She asks eagerly, before she can stop herself. Damn it! _So much for playing it cool.

"_I think so," he says, and he stands up and walks over to her._

_He's close enough to touch now._

"_But I suppose you'll still be wanting another lesson," he adds softly._

"_Of course. I've missed … our lessons."_

_His face is very close to hers. "Have you?"_

_Regina's lips part. "Rumple –"_

_She doesn't get to say anymore, because he grabs her and kisses her, liked she'd wanted him do the moment she'd come through the door._

"_A whole damn month," she hisses in his ear, in between kisses and caresses. "How could you make me wait that long?"_

"_Patience is a virtue, my wicked one."_

_She presses her body to his. "I thought you preferred my vices," she whispers. Then his tongue is in her mouth, and she forgets the rest of her witty comebacks. As he touches her, as he holds her in arms and carries her to bed, she forgets to be sophisticated and seductive and just speaks her mind._

"_I missed _you_," she whispers._

_They're in the bed now, and he pulls back from devouring her neck to look at her, and she know it's happening again, a moment where he looks and seems more … human._

_This time she'll say something about it. She will. She _will_._

"_Rumple, I …"_

_But then he smiles, and kisses her again, and passion takes over, as it always does. Oh gods, the pleasure of it is so intense it's nearly unbearable. Her hips rise to meet his, she wraps her limbs around him and sighs and screams and moans, and there is _no feeling on earth_ like the feeling of him moving inside her, and she's close, and they're close – and _oh _–_

_When they come together, it feels so good she wants to cry._

_It's only afterwards, when their passion has been spent several times over, and she's drifting off to sleep, that she hears his voice, on the edge of her consciousness very soft, and very human,_

"_I missed you too, Regina."_

But no. That's wrong. He never said that. Or if he did, it was just another lie, another manipulation.

Another one of his sick little games.

He'd used her. But she didn't care, because she'd used him too. She just wished he hadn't pretended to be sentimental about it, that's all.

He'd never missed _Regina_. Not her.

He'd missed a girl with shining eyes and a heart-shaped face. A girl who loved books and wanted to be a hero. A girl he _hadn't _taught to rip out hearts and wield magic. A girl of light and air and hope, unblemished and unbroken.

He hadn't missed a girl whose heart was broken by grief, whose spirit was blemished by abuse and anger and death. He hadn't missed a girl he'd molded like a lump of clay, wielded like a weapon, and played like a fiddle. Rumplestiltskin had wanted to come to this world, for whatever reason (she's sure he'd tell the girl with shining eyes why, if she asked), and Regina was how he got there.

And one when one gets to the end of a long journey, one doesn't miss the means they used to get there. That's what she was to him, just a means to an end. It was as simple as that.

Well, at least she had gotten some power out of the deal, power to do what _she_ wanted to do. That was what really mattered. Not these ridiculous memories of how … maudlin she had let herself be, back then.

All Archie's stupid therapist jargon about getting the root of her problem was crap.

The best way to deal with these kinds of memories is simply to bury them, to choke the seeds of sentiment under a blanket of bitterness, and then see what malice and what power an Evil Queen can sew from such fetidly fertile ground.


End file.
